


Downhearted Blues

by rainebaby



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 1920s, Abusive John Winchester, Benny Lafitte & Dean Winchester Friendship, Caring Benny, Castiel Feels, Castiel and Dean Winchester are Cute, Castiel and Dean Winchester in Love, Creepy Alastair, Crying Dean, Crying Dean Winchester, Dark Dean Winchester, Dead John Winchester, Dead Sam, Dead Sam Winchester, F/M, Falling In Love, Fear, Gordon Being an Asshole, Human Castiel, Human Crowley, Hurt Dean Winchester, Kansas, M/M, Married Ellen Harvelle/Bobby Singer, Meg Lives, Mental Institutions, Metatron Being a Dick, Murder, Old-Fashioned, Parent John Winchester, Protective Bobby Singer, Sad, Sad Castiel, Uriel Being a Dick, Zachariah Being a Dick
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-05
Updated: 2016-09-28
Packaged: 2018-08-13 07:23:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7967677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rainebaby/pseuds/rainebaby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Do you remember the day your father died? Well, you were in such a rage, you were swinging your fists around and throwing anything you could find. The police were called out and held you back but you escaped and you were much more... angry." The vicar stopped the take a breath. "You hit him with a hard object and he went down almost instantly. Then they had you but you fought back, almost animal like. You're brother ran in and you caught him too. You hit him even harder than you did your father."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For any kind of confusion...   
> This book will include 1920's vocabulary.  
> Definitions will be at the bottom.

There was no court case for the murder of John Winchester, just a suspected button man and a clear motive and that was all. It seemed good enough for the fuzz and anyone else who was thought of as the 'big cheese' around Kansas in 1923.

It was around 9am when Dean was shoved behind bars and bumped like the suspected killer he was. He was pushed down and shoved against the wall by the cruel men, leaving him howling in pain, but he still didn't admit to anything. Dean told himself that he wouldn't take the coward option out by telling a lie and saying that it was him who had put his father to big sleep. And so, he kept his head on his shoulders and refused to beg for mercy. He let the hits come, harder and harder by each touch, but he stood up straight as the men shouted insults at him.

Several weeks later, Dean had started to grow used to the baloney he was getting in the tattered jail and started to react back in a way that would not be suggested for wimps, pikers or damn saps. He became hard boiled and laughed at the harsh comments instead of getting defensive. Sure, it was a silly thing to do, but he couldn't think of any other way to deal with the lies that he had been thrown in... In fact, Dean thought that if he was forced into being this huge 'button man', then surely he should play his part in the right way, so he bucked up his ideas and made himself known to everyone. Soon after his new and 'improved' attitude, he had gained some power over some of the more 'innocent' prisoners, but to most of them, he was the bee's knees and everyone wanted to act the same as him. And with time, crime rates were increasing with the cover story of the 'prisoner who is sheik!'.

Everyone was familiar with the name Dean Winchester, in Kansas, and they either admired him or was scared witless. The folk would meet up regularly to share stories of the times they 'spoke' or 'brushed past' Dean. They would talk about seeing him in the market or seeing him as a young boy and so on... It was clear that Dean Winchester had been getting quite a reputation in the State and everyone was quite fond of the newly found criminal.

It was about three months later that Dean was moved to the Topeka State Hospital to be diagnosed and then treated for whatever madness that stirred up in his head. 

Rumours spread fast and soon everyone was talking about the new Dean Winchester story. There was hundreds of different theories being spoken and even written about, from Dean killing his prison guards to him developing the fairly new discovered illness 'schizophrenia'. The list went on, but there was one reason that stood out the most and got so much publicity and notice. Antichrist. 

The folk had been speaking amongst themselves and coming up with the best possible answer. It seemed dumb and very silly but they still thought it was true. The people split even more, unsure whether to take pride of the 'Kansas Antichrist', or whether to be scared for the hatred their home would get. No one really knew which was right, but everyone spoke their opinions loudly and proudly.

Meanwhile, Dean had been stuck in his new room with his wrists and ankles tied tightly to his bed. He had tried to force his way out of the leather but it was way too strong.

"Ah nuts!" He muttered to himself. "This is damn stupid! I am not crazy, let me out of this dump!"

He yelled loudly as he pulled his arms and legs in attempt to escape from the tight grasp of the straps,

"It's no use, boy, they're as strong as God made them." A calm voice spoke.

Dean lifted his head up from the bed and saw a man dressed like a vicar. He didn't resemble any vicar Dean had ever seen before, in fact, he looked more like a writer. Dean could picture him with cheaters on his face and a pen in his hand, as he wrote novels that meant more to him than any reader. 

"Yes, vicar? I gotta ask you something-" 

"Dean, I have come in the name of the Lord." The vicar spoke, before turning his back and whispering something to someone outside the room. "Your sins."

Then he sat down on the chair next to Dean's bed and shortly after that, another male walked in the room. He wore a schoolboy's outfit, or the clothes picked out by a mother before church. A shirt, tie, trousers, a wooly jumper and a strange addition of a trench coat. It looked almost detective like, as if the vicar had some kind of religious case over Dean.

"And him?" Dean asked the vicar with his eyes glued to the other man. "What's his bargain?"

"My son, he hopes to someday teach the word of God and encourage lost souls, like yourself." The vicar nodded his head towards his son and then back to Dean. "Do you hear what they say about Dean Winchester?"

"Is it that he's a dew-dropper? A fool? A torpedo? Or maybe even a cake eater?" Dean said with a dark smile, he had learnt it in the big house. "What have they been saying, Vic?"

"You can call me Vicar Charles, this is Castiel." He gestured towards his son, "They say that you're an antichrist, Dean. Some say that you're a nut case or dope fiend, whilst others say you're a dropper." 

Vicar Charles reached out for his Bible and the continued to speak, "Do you think there is something inside of you, Dean? Do you feel threatened by a spirit or a demon? Or do you just feel like a trouble boy?" 

Dean watched Castiel and felt like the big man once again. He squinted his eyes and smiled at him as if he was trying to figure him out... trying to look inside his scared head. "Nothing inside me." He said and then switched his eyes back to the Vicar, "Trouble boy? I am not a trouble boy because I simply have not used a gun! I was not said to be a gunman, a murderer, but not a gunman!"

Castiel shuddered slightly, scared of the man tied down in front of him. He held his breath and stayed quiet as he observed like his father had told him to do, although, of course, he wanted to ask his own questions because just like everyone else, he was somewhat intrigued by Dean Winchester.

"Have you heard the Hickman Whittington?" The vicar asked, to which Dean shook his head. "Whittington is thought to be one of God's gifts. He knows a secret which is very much hidden to every other person on this Earth-"

"And how does that make you feel, Vicar Chuck? God didn't give the secret to dedicated people such as yourself." Dean grinned in a sly manner.

"Charles," He corrected Dean, before continuing. "I believe that God has a reason for everything and he chose this fine fella for a reason which we must all accept. Anyway, Whittington holds the remedy to all banishing of evil creatures from a single human body and since we have not discovered what it is yet, reading the whole Bible through will do..."

"That's goofy! I'm not possessed, not at all. You might as well fry me!" Dean raised his voice, shocked over the baloney the Vicar came up with. "Folk think I'm possessed?"

"And an antichrist." Castiel finally spoke, resulting to a sharp glare from his father and an i'm-all-balled-up stare from Dean.

"Dean, an innocent man has been killed." Vicar Charles spoke, in attempt to make a valid point for Dean to see what had he had done and to find out why he had to go to those lengths.

"Innocent? That man was not innocent! He was a cruel, spiteful coward who didn't even deserve to breathe! To think of him makes me sick to my stomach, he was the real criminal, the real goon! My brother didn't deserve to be stuck with him for so long, because I wouldn't bare it if he grew up to be like that. I wouldn't be able to forgive myself if I let my little brother be taught his grifter ways!" Dean paused, thinking about his brother and where he was, or if he was safe."Sammy, where is he? Is he okay? Did they take him away?"

Then it went silent and the shadow of darkness enveloped the whole room, making Dean feel anxious. 

"Sam was zotzed." Vicar Charles said and Castiel clenched his fists and bit his tongue, uncomfortably.

"Killed?! What, how..." Dean was short of breath but refused to melt because then he wouldn't find out how, or why. "Maybe nobody's home but say it again."

"Do you remember the day your father died? Well, you were in such a rage, you were swinging your fists around and throwing anything you could find. The police were called out and held you back but you escaped and you were much more... angry." The vicar stopped the take a breath. "You hit him with a hard object and he went down almost instantly. Then they had you but you fought back, almost animal like. You're brother ran in and you caught him too. You hit him even harder than you did your father."

"No, that didn't happen! That didn't happen! No, no!" Dean shouted and struggled against the leather. He weeped aloud and screamed and howled at the vicar. "That didn't happen! I didn't do that!"

"The police said it was like nothing they'd seen before." 

"No! Tell me the truth!"

"I think you blacked out, but something inside of you clicked and whatever it was, it was not..."

"Human?!" Dean said, this time, quieter. He let his head fall back down to the bed and he stared at the ceiling, unsure what to think. It felt like every word he had ever learnt had been dragged out of his head and he knew nothing but how to be silent. He had so many more questions but asking them would make him look like a weak fool, even more than he already was. 

Dean closed his eyes and thought back to his father. He thought back to their fight, the shouting and the punching. He'd just nailed it down as one of the usual brawls they had, but maybe with a more serious subject. He thought about the exact words his father had said to him when he told him that he was going to ship Sam away. He thought about the anger he felt towards his father for even thinking about something as bizarre as that! He was stunned and wanted an explanation for why this would even occur to him. His father's reasons didn't seem good enough and Dean refused to believe that John wanted Sam to be as far as way from Dean as he could possibly get him. He hated that his father could say that and he despised the cruel words he was saying about Sammy, because Dean knew that it was all false. None of it was real. Sam and Dean loved each other and there was no possible way that it wasn't true. In fact, Dean was willing to give up everything to find a new life with Sammy, away from his home. He was planning to show his little brother the world and make him believe that it wasn't as bad as their father had made it out to be. Dean even told his father that, he had told him that he wished he left earlier on because that way, everyone would have been much better off.

"Dean, we want you to get better." The Vicar said, cutting into Dean's thoughts.

"No, you want a story. You want a story to make your religion look better, but where I'm standing, it's all fake! If God was real, my brother would still be here!" He choked. "Get out and don't come back."

"I'm afraid, it's not as simple as that. I have been assigned to you and I won't rest until you are fixed from the inner evil that is hiding beneath your skin. It may take up to a year but I will be back every day to find out the real you, the real Dean Winchester." 

Dean didn't look at Vicar Charles, he didn't even lift his head because he was in pain. He had lost his brother and there was something more that emotion to that. It was psychical. His body was all loose and empty. It seemed as if nothing was worth the movement anymore, and that maybe his brother was more than just a person who he could share anything with. His brother was his foundation, because every strong building needed something to keep them up. 

He sulked to himself and let the tears stream down his face. This felt worse than he ever imagined death to be like, because at least he wouldn't have to lose anything, he wouldn't be able to watch himself slip out the grasp of life, which is what was happening with Sam. And what made it all even more sickening was that if the Vicar was telling the truth, which he would be as he would have no reason to lie, he was the one to take away his 20 year old little brother's life. He was the one who caused himself the hassle. 

"Uriel, please open the door." Vicar Charles said to one of the workers, who stood directly outside Dean's door.

And then he was gone. Castiel held back though, staring at the shattered man, before disappearing out the door, along with his father.

The soft sound of Bessie Smith echoed through the quiet hall as she sang about the 'Downhearted Blues'.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've cut down on the old language to make it more understandable..   
> Also, this chapter is supposed to be super duper sad, so if it made you sad, I'm grateful.

Weeks went by and Dean had not said a word to anyone. He had not even muttered to himself and very slowly, he had began to forget the sound of his own voice, but he didn't really see the point in remembering... He didn't want to be reminded of himself because then he'd be forced with what he did. It was eating him alive for what they had told him about the inhumane crime and Dean was fading out. It was like he was a statue of which used to be admired and full of emotion and reason but had grown old of it's ways and wanted nothing more than to be put to rest, whether that be harshly or not. He didn't really care.

The Vicar visited everyday with new words of wisdom, in hope that he would be able to put a finger on what was really going on in Dean's skull. He wished that he would be able to one day voice God, and eventually get everyone to believe in his omnipotent ways, because God had a way out of everything and Vicar Charles was almost certain that he would cure Dean. Whereas, Castiel had kept quiet as he observed the weaker male and hoped for him to wake up from his misery... He had hoped that Dean would notice the insanity that lingered around the halls of the Topeka State Hospital, and not the usual madness from a mental asylum. The suspicious kind. 

"Dean, boy, how are you feeling today?" Vicar Charles asked Dean for the twenty-third day in a row, to which he would always get no response, but apparently that wouldn't stop him in asking the following day. 

Silence filled Dean's ears and it was as if he was losing his senses, or his mind. He couldn't be sure though... He couldn't be sure of anything. Time was going by and Dean wasn't sure whether it was moving fast or slow, he couldn't figure out whether it was him who was losing the time or time that was losing him. If someone would to say to him that it would take 'time' for him to recover and mourn his brother then he would be left without anything because time was not on his side. Nothing was. And if that was the case, where would the digits be, what would be the number or the date that he would move on, because that seemed to hard to believe. If there would ever be a time that Dean would be able to smile or feel happy again, it would be when his life was being dragged away from him in the cruelest way, as that is what he believed he deserved.

 

 

JULY.

 

 

AUGUST.

 

 

SEPTEMBER.

 

 

OCTOBER.

 

 

"Well let's say it isn't working, then what?" Castiel spoke in a hushed tone, from outside the room.

"Castiel, do you doubt God? Do you think your uncertainty is going to cure Dean, because it won't! Son, put your trust in the Lord and he will help!" Vicar Charles responded, with a hint of anger in his voice.

"No, I do not doubt, father." Castiel whispered. "I don't."

"Good, all it takes is time! And, I think we're getting closer." 

"Okay. And what about letting Dean out?" Castiel said before checking inside the door to see whether Dean was listening, even though he was more than aware that Dean wasn't listening to anything. He was out. In his own mind, maybe? 

It was unusual how long Castiel could spend staring at Dean, whilst his father worked on him. He would just see the lifeless male laying limp and frail and wonder what Dean was thinking about. Whether he was thinking anything or if he was in an emotional coma of some kind. It seemed likely but Castiel was no doctor and had no clue on what it could be. Well, he knew more than his father. He thought about how it wouldn't be an antichrist. He was almost certain of it. Almost. 

Anyway, Castiel grew fond of his habit and would forget his fathers intentions and just watch Dean, with various scenarios in his head. He would picture Dean awake and he would imagine talking to him like a regular fella because that's how he thought of him. Normal. Maybe with a bit more attitude than someone from the street, but still mundane. Castiel would picture Dean and him talking and laughing together. He would picture Dean being his friend and showing him not to be so lonely and quiet. He would make him go against his fathers wishes and Castiel would no longer fear his father's opinions because he would accept that his were the only that mattered.

Castiel had often tried talking to Dean, in hope that maybe it would help him. It was a stupid idea but he had prayed on it too many times to count. He wanted Dean out of this place more than he wanted himself out of his fathers idea of how he should live.

"What do you suggest? He isn't ready yet, he is not human! We can not let him out, think of the outrage!" Vicar Charles said, angry again. "God will punish him, if need be."

"And if not?" Castiel shot back."

"Castiel! Do you doubt God?!" The Vicar raised his voice, this time furious with his son and his stupid question.

"And if not?" Castiel asked again, instantly regretting it.

His fathers eyes widened and he took a step closer to Castiel, ready to punish him. Castiel closed his eyes, to then open them after seconds of silence and no movement.

Vicar Charles then walked back into the room and sat down onto the seat by the side of Dean's bed, with his Bible clenched tightly. There was not a doubt in his mind that this wouldn't work, since he trusted God with his life. He trusted God with everything he had ever touched or every person he had ever spoken to. Charles was certain that God would end everything, just as he had began it. 

"What about the other patients?" Castiel came in and stood on the other side of Dean's bed. "Don't you think if Dean had someone to speak to, he would feel better?"

"It is too dangerous!" Vicar Charles hissed.

"For who?" 

"For them, Castiel!"

"You said it yourself, they're not important..." Castiel said, repeating his fathers words. "He needs to communicate with someone besides you, father. Maybe it will help him, have you thought about that?"

"I don't think this concerns you-" 

"That's why I'm here though! Father, you wanted me to learn about all of this, so please, let me learn!" Castiel pleaded. "Let me have a voice as I have an idea which might help us both. Might help Dean."

The next day it rained and the trees that surrounded the Hospital stood empty, with barely any leaves that remained on the branches. There was one leaf that stood out though, it was a darker colour than the rest, and much more overdue. In fact, it had shrivelled up into a small roll and resembled the old leaves from the ground, yet that one hung on tightly, as if it wasn't ready to go down.

Dean sat on a chair, facing the window, with other patients moving and talking around him. It was the first day he was able to communicate with them, but he couldn't. The feeling of movement and speech had come back to him and for some reason, that didn't seem like a good enough reason for him to talk. Nothing did. Unless Sammy was alive... He swallowed the lump that had returned in his throat. It stood in the same place almost every day for who knows how long. The only time the lump wasn't there was when he cried. When he could no longer take it and let it rip open his heart again. 

His eyes were red and left hollow circles, which actually appeared a lot on his face and neck. His cheekbones, his temples, his collarbones, et cetera. Dean was weaker than he had ever been, but to him that was a good thing, because maybe to die slowly would be the only thing that could help him. 

"Trick or treat." A strange accent said, beside him. Then the sound of a chair scraping against the floor followed and the male sat in the chair, staring out the window, too.

Dean didn't move his eyes from the window. He just stared straight ahead and bit his tongue because he knew that if someone was talking to him, he must still be alive. He must still be suffering. 

"Not a talker? What did they do to you?" The stranger asked, not expecting an answer. He seemed as if he was used to the quiet new people, which kind of gave the impression that he had been stuck in the hospital for a long time. "I'm Benny."

And then silence.

A tolerable silence, which Benny seemed comfortable with. 

They sat side by side until the leaf was barely visible with the dark sky enveloping the whole world outside. Dean wished he could climb into that envelope and disappear. He wished he could crawl into the soil and let himself waste away. He wished he could never breathe again, because he didn't deserve it. He wished that he could swap places with his little brother so he would get a chance to make something with his life, instead of wasting it, like Dean. Sammy was going places. 

And then the shooting pain of tears began in his throat and he knew he was too far gone to get out. The same as last night. The same as the night before. And the same as the night before that one. One movement. A whole body weight of tears. No time could tell how long that would be the way. It was almost inevitable that Dean would be forever be damaged. 

He wanted to beg for some kind of justice. He wanted to be treated like the killer he was. He wanted someone to kill him and save himself from the self hatred, but inside he knew that he would never be able to hate himself enough. If he could rip himself up like a piece of paper, he would. He would destroy his whole existence and just save everyone the energy. Dean wanted death so badly that it made him sick to his stomach. His empty, hollow stomach. 

Dean pushed his nails into his skin to prevent the tears but they were already filling his eyes. His mouth dropped open and breathing seemed a lot more difficult. He flinched and shivered in the seat, almost hysterical. 

And then Castiel appeared, pulling Dean to his feet. He threw Dean's arm around his shoulder and held his weight up as he struggled out of the room and into a new, much quieter room. It was such a quick motion but not fast enough because Dean was falling apart.

And then he fell. Dean fell. He fell and cried. 

Castiel watched the male shatter into millions of tiny little pieces. He watched the most humane thing possible. He watched someone hurt. Suffer, even.

**Author's Note:**

> buttonman - professional killer  
> the fuzz - the police  
> big cheese - important person   
> bumped - beat  
> big sleep - death  
> baloney - rubbish   
> piker - coward  
> sap - a dumb guy  
> hard boiled - a tough, strong guy  
> sheik - a man with sex appeal  
> cheaters - glasses  
> dew-dropper - a lazy young man who sleeps all day and has no ambitions  
> torpedo - hitman  
> cake eater - ladies man   
> dope fiend - drug addict  
> dropper - hired killer  
> fry - to be electrocuted   
> i'm all balled out - i'm confused  
> grifter - con man  
> nobody's home - someone dumb


End file.
